Walk the Line
by Princess Garen
Summary: The lines between one world and the next are not as strong as the denizens of Runeterra like to believe, and the beings between do not want peace. But they are coming. When everything they fought for begins to fall apart, what is left? Sequel to The Only Truth. Garen/Katarina
1. Prologue

_Hello everyone! Princess Garen (or Kittytoast) here with a teaser/prologue for the sequel to The Only Truth! Introducing, Walk the Line *does a dance* (yeah, considering the song). __I took a long trip and in the car I had plenty of time to finalize the plot and work out all the details from the beginning to end. Feel free to speculate but any direct questions will not be answered, teehee!_

_If you haven't read The Only Truth and are joining me for the first time, I highly recommend reading its predecessor before continuing. It isn't 100% necessary, but will be very helpful in understanding the setting going forward from here. _

* * *

_Walk the Line_

* * *

_Prologue_

Dust which had been untouched for centuries billowed up around Ezreal as he rappelled from his rocky perch to the solid ground below. Sweat dribbled down his chin, creating streaks of mud where it worked through the dirt on his face. Nearly two kilometers above him the Shurima sun scorched the sands but where he was descending it was cold and dark.

The Prodigal Explorer had been preparing for this journey since discovering the entrance to the cave three weeks ago. A particularly vicious dust storm had blown through the Shurima desert and when the wind had subsided, the shifting sands just to the East of the Urtistan ruins had revealed an area unlike any he'd ever seen. Exactly the kind of thing he lived for.

The area he'd arrived in appeared to be as deep as the cave went and began to flatten out, but experience had taught him not to be complacent. Ezreal shrugged off his pack and took a drink from his canteen, then pulled a length of rope and a handful of tools from the bottom of the pack. It would take time to set up a another system of support, but it was time he was more than happy to spend to ensure his own safety; magic might not save him if he took the wrong step.

When he was finally satisfied that his safeguard, the harness around his waist, and strap to his lighted hard-hat were secure, the explorer took a few steps into the dark. Being the first person to traverse ground that had been untouched for an untold number of years gave him an unparalleled rush. Even though the walls around him weren't anything out of the ordinary, the feeling was no different.

As he looked about, his light flickered across an unusual crack in the wall which caught his attention. With a smile on his face, the explorer climbed onto an outcropping of rock to inspect it and under his weight, the rocks beneath his feet shifted and around him the cave seemed to groan. He had just enough time to mutter, "That doesn't sound good," under his breath as the crack widened before his eyes and the ear-splitting sound of shattering rock broke the silence.

The sensation of plummeting took him. Ezreal flailed wildly for a panicked second then seized the brake rope and with a sickening jerk his lifeline went taut, forcing the air from his lungs. The contents of his stomach emptied, leaving him wondering dimly if he was going to suffocate. But after a few, hour-like moments his breathing returned to normal and the black receded from the corners of his vision. Ignoring the throbbing in his temples and the potential fractured rib or two, he pulled the heavy-duty flashlight from his belt and flicked on the light.

His jaw dropped.

The floor he'd been walking on had opened up into an enormous cavern. The walls of the cave looked black as obsidian and unnaturally smooth, as if it were a bubble and not at all natural rock. A faint purple glow seemed to emanate from it, dancing across the walls and illuminating the cave so that, once his eyes adjusted, his flashlight was scarcely needed. And twenty meters beneath where he dangled was what looked like the ruins of an ancient city.

A slow grin spread across the Piltoveran's face and he whispered, "Jackpot."

Once Ezreal lowered himself to the ground, he set out immediately to explore the nearby area, this time with cautious, limping steps. He couldn't believe he was so lucky as to stumble across a find like this! The space in which he'd dropped was residential if he had to guess, judging by the floor plans of the remnants; he was bound to find plenty of artifacts within their walls that would hint to the culture of the civilization. After he did a quick run through, he would do a more thorough search for specifics.

But as he passed through the residential district, his excitement over the discovery gave way to puzzlement: The ruins looked as though they'd never seen the elements despite their destroyed state suggesting that perhaps they were not so old, but the architecture was unlike anything he'd ever seen. Curiosity finally got the better of him and the explorer dropped his pack and rummaged through until he unwrapped a small bundle containing a clear liquid.

The liquid was part of a kit created for him by the yordles who specialized in geology at the Academy for Science and Progress. Once a piece of rock was dropped in the liquid, the liquid would begin to turn a shade of blue, with each shade indicating the approximate age of the rock. The older the rock, the darker the color. It wasn't exact, but it was enough to satiate his curiosity until he could return to the Academy with a sample for real testing. The oldest structure he had the pleasure of exploring had been the Shurima pyramids, which proved older than the ruins of Urtistan at approximately 3,000 years. Those rocks had turned the liquid a deep sapphire blue.

Ezreal chipped a piece from a nearby wall, then knelt in front of the flask. Whistling a cheerful tune, he dropped it into the vial with a tiny splash, corked it, then held it up in front of his flashlight. He stopped whistling. Already it was a bright Demacian blue, and it appeared to be darkening quickly. Cobalt. Sapphire. Navy.

With trembling hands he set the flask on the ground as the liquid turned black. "I'll be damned," he chuckled. "Where the hell am I?"

But the crumbling walls provided no answers so the explorer packed the flask and continued walking until he entered what looked to be a market. His interest piqued at the rows of crumbling pillars and fossilized wood scattered about on either side of a wide expanse and he decided he couldn't wait any longer. From his pocket he procured a tiny cube that, when twisted, expanded into a frame with a translucent magic screen. Another one-of-a-kind techmaturgical device from Heimerdinger himself, the screen captured images and stored them inside, allowing him to review them later. With every picture he made notes in a small notebook and soon the book was half-filled with scribbles and sketches.

It was when he arrived near the center of the ruins that he let out an awed gasp. Standing almost three meters high was a decorative wall which curved in on itself to create a complete circle. Or it would have if not for the obviously missing section of wall, but Ezreal was more concerned with the art adorning its surface. If it was anything like the structure he'd uncovered in Urtistan, it would be a rendering of the area's history.

Flashlight in hand and screen in the other, the explorer began to work his way around the wall. And when he reached the section just before the missing fragment, the blood drained from his face.

"Oh shit."


	2. In the Wake of Conflict

_WELCOME BACK ONE AND ALL! I, Kitty (that's short for Kittytoast, for those that don't know already), your lord and master, want to thank you in advance for your patience! I know it's been like... forever since I posted my prologue. Since then I've finished school I've been dealing with things. Namely trying to adjust to adult life, which by the way they don't really give you a manual for. It's been... difficult. -throws confetti-_

_As I've mentioned, this is the true beginning of a sequel for The Only Truth. You don't necessarily have to read it, but there's going to be a lot of things that wouldn't make sense otherwise. Much of it is setting which will be touched on but not necessarily explained. This world didn't happen overnight. Where's your favorite Champion? What about the Institute? What is this "peace" nonsense? Why is a Demacian in love with a Noxian?! If any of these questions are going through your head, I direct you to my profile where you will find this story's predecessor. It's been a year and five months since the events of TOT (a year and one month if you count the epilogue) and a lot has happened. On my profile are some one/two-shots that go into a little more depth into the last year and five months as well. Just for funsies._

_I like the idea of Aatrox. I think it's totally cool. But the idea of this godlike being joining the League of Legends is, kinda... weird. Anyway I've just twisted the lore a bit. And by that I mean, Aatrox is not in the League of Legends. Not to say that he doesn't exist..._

_**One last bit of housekeeping.** This chapter may go under edits later. If they're significant edits I will repost the chapter with a notification. It's still under beta but I need this chapter to be out of my life more than I need it to be perfect. _

_As is often the case when I write, I get sidetracked as I research. I would like to share with you the results of this occurrence. -ahem- Janna's old voice. I mean, seriously. Wut. It's like new Janna and Veigar had a baby. And those lines are quite possibly the worst quotes in existence featuring such gems as, "YOUR FORECAST IS __**NOT GOOD**__," and "I CAN SMELL YOUR DEMISE." No, Janna. No._

_Anyway. Back to seriousness. I present, chapter one of Walk the Line._

* * *

_In the Wake of Conflict_

* * *

Though life was far from perfect, Garen Crownguard, Second Commander of the Demacian Dauntless Vanguard, was content. After numerous battles, both physical and political in the face of impossible odds, he had emerged from combat with, not only his life, but a woman who loved him and substantial influence in the world's government. He was welcome in almost every city-state in Valoran after his and Katarina DuCouteau's leadership and sacrifice in the last Rune War had secured peace across the continent. And after months spent unraveling the schemes of a first-rate manipulator and her master tactician of a partner, he was inclined to believe that he deserved the peace. Yes, things were pretty good...

But the first thing Garen noticed as he jerked into wakefulness was the knife buried in the headboard above his head that suggested things were less than ok. As he rolled over with a heavy sigh, the next thing he noticed was the empty bed which was a conclusive sign that Katarina was _probably _still upset over their fight from the night before. He closed his eyes and willed himself to go back to sleep. It wasn't as though it were the first time they'd argued, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, so there was little sense in losing sleep over it.

Sleep, however, evaded him, and after what felt like hours in the company of his swirling thoughts, the soldier shuffled out of bed. The sun would be coming up soon anyway, and he was no stranger to sleepless nights. As he threw on pants, a loose undershirt, and his boots, he contemplated going in search of Katarina before beginning his morning routine, but by the time he was dressed, had decided against it. He would give her as much time as she wanted. Instead, he pocketed the knife after pausing to survey the damage with a slight frown, strapped his sword to his back, and stepped out of the bedroom.

The place they'd called home for the past few weeks was the newly constructed DuCouteau estate, an even more expansive manor than the one they'd lost to former Grand General Jericho Swain's fire. Swain's intention had been to mark the DuCouteau family as traitors and rip apart their foundation in Noxus, and in that regard it was the first of his plans to fail. Even after such treatment the DuCouteau family had demonstrated their loyalty to the state of Noxus and their strength had been regarded highly by those of the High Command who hadn't been in Swain's pocket. Those who had disagreed met a short demise at the blade of Katarina's father, Marcus DuCouteau, a former General who had been underground researching the corruption of the League and the Black Rose.

Construction on a new home had begun once Marcus's establishment as the new Grand General of Noxus was no longer contested. Located on the outskirts of Noxus, it was surrounded by several acres of thin grass and sparse trees, a rarity for a home so close to the rocky city. It created a much less hostile feeling that the old home and anything was better than the High Command Headquarters where Marcus DuCouteau, had been staying, so it was, by Garen's standards, tolerable, though nothing like his own estate. The new location did provide him the luxury of walking around without constantly looking over his shoulder. That didn't stop him from arming himself before exiting to the house's grounds anyway; he wasn't stupid.

His morning routine consisted of push-ups, sit ups, and a five kilometer run, all just enough to get the day started, and all things he'd once taken for granted. In the last year and a half he'd found a new appreciation for such simple actions; they hadn't come easily. LeBlanc, the Deceiver who nearly succeeded in bringing all of Valoran under her control, had inflicted a spell on his heart that had left him incapable of prolonged combat and general physical activity, a life to which he'd tried to resign himself. But resignation had escalated to depression and had begun to tear a rift between he and Katarina. When he'd finally admitted the truth, the pair had decided to take a trip to Ionia on the hopes of spiritual reconciliation. What they'd gotten was an offer from Soraka, the greatest healer in the world. For their efforts in saving the continent, on behalf of Ionia she would try to repair the damage at no cost to them. Whatever she'd done hadn't been a perfect fix- he still tired faster than he remembered and could feel skipped heartbeats on occasion- but the drastic improvement was more than enough for him.

He figured Katarina would be running through a similar routine, but he didn't catch even a glimpse of her as he went about his business, meaning if she was awake, she was, likely, avoiding him deliberately. Something he had learned in the last two years was that if she didn't want to be found, he wouldn't find her. Assassins. With an increasing feeling of irritation, he finished his workout in silence.

More often than not, the grand house was empty save for a few loyal staff as Talon spent most days traveling between states and Marcus remained busy at his High Command office. Given that his relationship with her father was unclear and he and her adoptive brother Talon had long since agreed upon a mutual dislike, Garen was fine with that. As such, his heart nearly leapt from his chest when he rounded the kitchen threshold for a glass of water to see Marcus DuCouteau reclining against the table usually used by the staff for preparing food, drinking a cup of coffee.

"G'morning," the older man greeted as he swiveled in his chair to address the shocked Demacian. Already the DuCouteau patriarch looked as though he'd been up for hours, dressed in ornate yet functional assassin's armor and a cloak affixed with the DuCouteau house crest. His faded red hair was more gray than not, cut short to hide the thinning in the back, a contrast to his deep green eyes, which were still bright and alert despite the permanent dark circles under them. He looked tired, but still he exuded the confidence and lethality of a man half his age.

It took a moment before the soldier could stammer a surprised, "Uh, good morning?"

"Get some coffee," the Noxian ordered, gesturing to the kettle of steaming liquid on the kitchen stove. "Then take a seat. I've got news."

Garen frowned. Marcus hadn't led with any sarcastic comments or threats and was even forcing some of his precious coffee on him (it seemed like everyone in Noxus drank the stuff like it was liquid gold). He was suspicious, but he wasn't about to deny the assassin either, so he grunted his assent and poured himself a cup before collapsing into the chair across the table. "So what's going on?" he questioned, taking a sip. So bitter. What did people like about this?

From his vest pocket, Marcus brandished a letter which he slid toward him. "This." On the outside of the envelope was written _House DuCouteau _accompanied by the broken seal of the city of Piltover, which piqued his interest as he unfolded its contents.

_3 September, 24CLE_

_To the leaders of Valoran:_

_A mandatory emergency meeting between the leaders of all Valoran's city-states has been requested on behalf of the renowned Piltoveran explorer Ezreal. The issue is regarding continental security. Please be at the Institute of War tomorrow, 4 September, 24CLE, five P.M in the Grand Lecture Hall. If unable to attend, please send a representative. This meeting is open forum and optional for all other citizens of Valoran._

_Regards, _

_The Council of Equity_

_ and_

_The Council of Piltover _

Garen reread it quickly, then set it down it with a sigh."Continental security?"

"Apparently. I'm hoping this doesn't turn out to be more of that bullshit about A-trax or whatever it was called," Marcus grumbled. "Anyway, I'm sure you got the exact same summons so you better go, just take Kat with you. I'm too busy and Talon's doing some things in Bilgewater. I can't have him leave just for this stupid crap."

He was sure Katarina would be pissed and demand to know why her father didn't go himself, but the Demacian answered, "Sure, we'll do it." She might disagree, but there was no way _he_ was going to. Marcus could have a dagger on his throat faster than he could react, and thirty was too young for him to die.

"Of course you will," the older man commented, his fingers idly tapping out a rhythm on his forearm where Garen was sure a knife was hidden under the sleeve. "You'll have to leave here today, so go find her- no, not yet, sit down. Since I've got you here, I want to know what the hell was with all the noise last night. What did you say to piss her off so bad?"

Garen stiffened in his seat, knuckles whitening around his cup and he wished he'd gone ahead and left the kitchen. "That's not-"

"My business?" Marcus interjected. "No, it's not. Except that it's my daughter you were screaming about and my daughter who was sleeping in a guest room this morning, so, oh wait! It kinda is."

"It's _really_ not," the Demacian growled. "People fight."

The General narrowed his eyes and Garen was sure if looks could kill, he would be dead. "Usually not loud enough to wake the dead," he hissed, jabbing an accusing finger at him. "You kept me up, so you owe me answers."

With an indignant twist on his face, Garen ground out, "Fine! We haven't lived in one place for more than a few months and it's tiring. I want to settle a little. She... doesn't."

"Aw, you're tired? Is that how they run things in Demacia?" Marcus sneered. "Just lay down and quit when you get a little tired?"

"It's not like that! I'm just being a realist," he shot back. "Peace is pretty well established, so there's no reason to not pick a place to call home, do some stable work that doesn't require being gone for months at a time." He looked down at his hands and loosened his grip on the cup, then forced himself to take a deep breath. "I don't want to make her unhappy. Ever. But we just... want different things." He frowned up at the assassin. "So now you know."

The General snorted. "You can't handle a little moving?" When Garen only glared in response, he scowled, "Look, let me give you some advice. You're a Commander, you should know when to pick your battles."

"That's your advice?"

Marcus raised an eyebrow and smirked, a resemblance to Katarina so strong it was disconcerting. "You want more? Fine, how about solve your problems like a civilized person?"

The soldier grimaced. "We try."

Her father settled back into his chair with a huff, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared daggers at him over his coffee. After a few moments, he finally seemed to reach some kind of conclusion and emitted a noncommittal grunt. "Guess I had you pegged wrong."

Garen felt the blood rising across his face again and started to demand, "What do you mean?" but he was interrupted by an exasperated voice calling, "Quit talking about me like I'm not here."

Both men turned toward the kitchen entrance to see Katarina slinking in without a whisper of sound. She was dressed casually in an oversized white shirt, fitted black pants, and soft soled boots, along with three belts strapped with knives of various sizes and two daggers hanging low on her hips. A forced expression of neutrality only served to make her look petulant, reinforced by the arms crossed over her chest. Her knee-length hair hung damp around her shoulders indicating that she'd just left the shower and her eyes were fiery despite the tired circles under his eyes.

Marcus gave a sheepish laugh and pushed out a chair for her at the table, which she ignored in favor of leaning against the counter. "How much of that did you hear?" he questioned.

The red-head leveled a peculiar stare at Garen and answered, "Enough."

To his surprise, Marcus interceded in a voice that left no room for discussion, "Did you get the part where you're going to the Emergency Valoran Council meeting for me?"

In an instant her face contorted in resentment. "What, I don't get a choice?"

"Don't be a brat," he warned. "I'd go if I could but I can't, so leave it at that. You can put your work on hold." She didn't try to conceal her sullen frown but she also didn't try to argue. Clearly she, like Garen, had been hoping for something more exciting.

"We'll have to go today if we want to get there in time," the Demacian said, feeling very small as she diverted her upset gaze from her father to him. "Maybe we should go pack and try to catch an early train?"

She sent a pointed look back to her father. "You can't have a summoner teleport us there?"

His stony expression didn't waver. "Niko's already at the Institute and right now he's the only one I trust not to try and scatter your limbs across the continent on 'accident.' Just take the train."

Finally, her face softened and it seemed that the tension drained from her limbs, leaving her slumped against the counter. "Fine," she muttered, looking down at her feet.

Seemingly satisfied, Marcus rose to his feet stretching and proclaimed, "Well, I'm done here. I have my own work to attend to. You let me know when you're leaving and I'll see you off."

The red-head nodded and took his chair as he left, then rested her cheek on the cool wood tabletop. For a few minutes they said nothing: Garen pushed away to take a glass from the cabinet and fill it at the sink, Katarina tapped her finger against the table.

"G'morning, Sunshine," he finally quipped. Even with his back turned he could see her rolling her eyes. Rather than join her, he stood where he was, sucking down two glasses of water and watching her pretend he didn't exist. When he finished, he pulled the knife from his pocket and gave it a casual twirl around his fingers. "I got your message," he said, sending it flying toward her with an easy flick of the wrist.

The red-head caught it by the handle as it whizzed over her shoulder. "You missed," she snorted.

"Contrary to what you might think, I don't want you dead," he retorted, crossing the room. He paused indecisively behind her for a moment, then bent to press a kiss to the top of her head before sitting beside her. "I do kinda like you," he added propping up on an elbow and giving her a small smile.

She looked up, a hesitant grin of her own forming on her face. "Just 'like?'" she challenged.

"Maybe a little more," he teased. She didn't pull back as he covered one of her hands in his own. "I'm sorry for last night," he murmured. "For yelling and making a big deal out of things."

Her green eyes flitted to the left and she bit her lip before saying, "I'm sorry too. I should listen. And not leave knives by your head."

"I don't mind the knives," he chuckled. "I just want you to be happy, but... what should we... do?"

The red-head sighed, "Lets just agree to disagree on it for a bit, ok? I'm just not ready to have the... the 'settling down' conversation yet."

The last part was said with such an air of discomfort that Garen acquiesced. "That's fine by me," he answered. "Some other time." She scrunched her face as if to say, "Or never," but only replied with a thin smile. There was nothing he wanted more than to resolve the issue right away; immediate reaction was how he operated most of the time. But considering how long it took her to answer his confession of love, he knew it was wishful thinking to expect her to want to talk about something as complicated as-

"So, today?" she asked, interrupting his reverie.

"Yeah," he sighed, taking another drink of his coffee which was just as bitter as before only cooler.

When he wrinkled his nose, Katarina swept his cup to her lips and drained it. "I'm gonna need this to make it through the day," she grumbled, moving across the kitchen to refill it. "I did _not _sleep well."

The Demacian chuckled and held a hand to her which she took. "You didn't have to sleep in another room. You could have slept with me," he retorted, pulling her into the foyer of the house and to the stairs.

"Not without killing you in your sleep," she shot back smiling. The liquid in her cup scarcely rippled as she walked. "But it's ok now, isn't it? Let's just pack and get to the train. The sooner we get to the Institute the sooner we can get back to the fun stuff. We don't even have to come back here!"

He let out a short laugh, but a feeling of weariness settled over his shoulders soon after. With the energetic way she was now bounding up the steps, he had a feeling it wasn't a joke at all.

* * *

With the advent of relative peace, more city-states were making collaborative strides in techmaturgy for public service, the most notable being the effort led by Piltover for a trans-continental train. No longer did it take days of travel to go from state to state; it took less than two days to the farthest points in Valoran. The best thing, Garen considered, was that he and Katarina as League Champions had free access to the transportation. With how little they remained in one place, the train was a godsend. From Noxus, the trip to the Institute lasted twelve hours, a fraction of the time it would have taken them to walk or ride with twice the comfort. He snorted as Katarina appeared at the top of the stairs with and overstuffed bag; perhaps they'd all gotten too comfortable as of late.

"We're not going to be gone that long," he reminded dryly.

"You don't know that," she shot back with a haughty grin. "And not knowing is half the fun!"

The soldier shifted the pack on his back that contained everything he'd accumulated: Several changes of clothes, a small whetstone, oil, and cleaning cloth for his equipment. Unlike Katarina who was dressed light in a fitted striped shirt, black shorts, and her belts of knives and daggers, he was fully armored. It was, in part, because his pack lacked the space and in part because the thought of walking through Noxus unarmored unsettled him.

"And sometimes it's nice to have a little consistency," he grumbled in response when she reached him.

"Come on," she groaned, pushing lightly against his arm. "I was just kidding! Don't bring this up already. I thought-"

"Agree to disagree, yeah, yeah."

"Good," she asserted, though her affirmation didn't quite seem to reach her eyes. But she slipped her hand into his and pulled him across the foyer of the mansion, yelling her father's name.

The old assassin met them at the grand double-door entrance of the home, arms crossed and expression gruff. "About time."

"Shut it, Dad, we're going aren't we?" she shot back.

He rubbed one hand across his lined face and graying beard but didn't argue. "Be careful," he warned instead, enveloping his daughter in a warm hug. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"That's not much, coming from you," came her muffled retort, though she held him just as tight. "You don't do anything stupid while I'm gone." Garen knew, though she never told her father, that Katarina sheltered a fear of returning to an empty house, that one day he would disappear as he did before. A fear already compounded by the death of her sister.

Another moment passed until Katarina finally withdrew and Marcus looked up at Garen. "Don't make me have to kill you," he threatened, his old standby even though the words had long since lost their edge.

"So far, so good," the Demacian replied, extending his hand to grip the General's forearm. The part of him that was still the loyal, conditioned Demacian wanted to recoil; the part that wanted to impress his girlfriend's father held fast.

"Well, I'll see you when I see you, Kat," Marcus said, holding the door open for them to squeeze past. "Stay safe."

"Better dead than dull!" she called over her shoulder as she went down the granite front steps.

Garen couldn't keep the grin off his face as he strode past the old assassin who was muttering, "Oh, for fuck's sake." It was hard not to be enticed by Katarina, vibrant and exciting as she was and in that moment he marveled at his incredible luck.

His sentiment of luck was challenged after a quarter of their trip had passed and her restlessness increased; idle hands did not agree with the red-head. Garen would have felt the same a year ago, but his brush with death and disability had given him a better appreciation of a slower-paced life.

The quiet thunk of metal hitting wood snapped him from his book and he looked toward the source. Katarina was seated diagonally from him, throwing knives across the compartment into the cherry-wood posts of their sleeper bunks. Their eyes met and she gave him a devious smirk before throwing one that skimmed the top of his head and embedded itself in the window frame. A few strands of his russet hair fell onto his book's ivory pages.

He sighed. It was going to be a long trip.

* * *

Having been persuaded into carrying both of their packs from the train, Garen dropped them with great relish onto their floor as Katarina flopped groaning onto their borrowed bed. It was late, nearly midnight, and the pair wasted no time in falling asleep. Though neither would admit it, the unwanted trip to the Institute of War was good for something; they didn't stir until late morning. By the time they awoke, the frustration of the past two days had been lost to their dreams.

It was nearly lunch time before a sharp knock on their door forced the couple to disentangle. As the knocks became more insistent, the Demacian grumbled a short, "Be right there," while Katarina disappeared into the bathroom. Clothed only in pants and preparing an irritable hello, he flung open the door the to smiling face and bright eyes of his sister Luxanna.

"Good morning!" she sang, bouncing up onto her toes and throwing her arms arms around his midsection.

Irritation forgotten in an instant, the commander responded in kind, picking her off the ground in a hug. "Lux! It feels like it's been forever. How did you know we were here?"

"Because I know everything," came her muffled retort. "And if you came home more often it wouldn't feel like forever, now would it?" When he set her down, she set to smoothing her hair and straightening her clothes, the silver plate and navy body suit uniform of a Demacian battlemage.

Conscious that Katarina was listening from the other room, Garen nodded and changed the subject. "Yeah, well. How's mother? Has she forgiven us yet?"

Lux snorted, "For taking the house? Are you kidding me? At least she's quiet now. All she does when I see her is give me these mean stares. I mean, it's not like she doesn't get to live there when you're gone. Which is all the time by the way. Don't think I'm letting this slide."

"We'll be back soon enough," Katarina called from the shower.

Garen was grateful for her interruption which seemed to distract his sister from the topic for the moment. She leaned past him in the doorway and shouted back, "Katarina! I was just saying it's been too long since I've seen you two. We're all going to eat lunch together, no exceptions!" When the red-head called back her assent, Lux turned back to Garen and said, "I cleared Jarvan's schedule so he could be here too and I know he wanted to see you before the meeting starts, so I'll let him know to be there too."

"Sounds great!" the Commander replied.

"Then I'll see you there in a bit!" the blonde chirped whirling around to bound down the hall.

Stretching, Garen retreated into the simple room and began to pick up his clothes which he'd abandoned to the floor last night in his quest for sleep. From the bathroom, Katarina emerged already fully clothed and armored and wringing her hair dry in a towel and chuckled, "So how much do you wanna bet that she was hoping Talon was with us?"

The Demacian's face twisted in disapproval. "I refuse to accept that bet," he retorted.

"Only because you know it's true," she smirked and rather than rise to her bait, he continued dressing himself in a sullen silence. For the past few months, Luxanna and Katarina's adoptive brother, an assassin who simply went by 'Talon,' had been on-and-off in something resembling a relationship after a year of working together as the new council representatives for Demacia and Noxus, much to his own discontent. There was no love between he and Talon, and Garen assumed it must have been karma for some terrible deed he'd committed that had caused his sister to fancy herself in love with the assassin. Katarina let out a short laugh, then moved to help him finish buckling his armor.

Thirty minutes later outside the Institute of War's communal mess hall, the pair joined an exuberant Lux and her solemn companion, Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth, the King of Demacia. A striking figure clad in silver armor accented with the blue and golds of Demacia, Jarvan IV waved away Garen's salute and, with a tired smile on his face, threw an arm around the shoulders of his friend. "Good to see you again."

"Likewise," the Commander said as he pulled away. "Sorry we haven't been in Demacia in a while. I have my reports readied and-"

"Garen, don't," the King interrupted. "We don't have to talk about this right now. Let's just-" he gestured around the cafeteria- "eat and catch up for a bit."

The tone in Jarvan's voice sounded almost pleading, and it caused a stab of regret to echo through Garen's chest. Jarvan had managed to wrench control of Demacia away from his father after the last Rune War, but his reason for doing so had been lost in the battle: Shyvana, the half-dragon woman who once was a fearsome component of the Demacian Elite Guard, had been killed by Darius, the late Hand of Noxus. Any love between them had been forbidden and part of Jarvan's plan had been to take power in order to change the prohibitory laws. Garen knew that her loss was eating away at his friend even a year later, and again he ached for the stability that would allow him to be at home. "Of course! Let's eat," he choked out, flashing a brief smile before moving mechanically into the cafeteria.

The cafeteria was huge, an expansive room with a wall of windows that looked North toward the Howling Marsh and the Ironspike Mountains just past them. Rows of wood-and-glass tables lined the floor and along the Eastern wall were dozens of smalls shops that boasted all types of foods from around the continent. In a few moment the group had coalesced at a table in the corner where they could safely watch the comings and goings of the crowds of summoners in the cafeteria.

"So how have you two been?" Garen questioned first after they had all settled into their seats.

"Busy," Lux replied instantly. "But things have gotten less so with time. There's a lot less unrest now since Jarvan's policies have been working out."

"Well, your policies really," the Prince countered modestly between bites of spicy-smelling Ionian dish that was heaped upon a mound of white rice. "I just get to take the credit."

The blonde shrugged in response, though her expression betrayed her pleasure at the compliment. "If you say so. What about you? Well, I know what you've been doing Garen, but how are you, Katarina?"

The Noxian gave her a smile both smug and polite. "My father has me doing some things as we move around. Information gathering mostly, and... other stuff. The situation in Noxus is still a bit volatile but that's always been the nature of the city."

Luxanna raised a curious eyebrow and Jarvan looked questioningly to Garen, who busied himself with the simple Demacian comfort food in front of him. 'Information gathering' was actually a great deal of spying, and what she hadn't said was that it also involved the occasional assassination, a fact which was an old source of dissension between them. He had since decided to turn a blind eyes to the activity and she had agreed to inform him if Demacia came up in her assignments. The arrangement was not one of his proudest and still made him squirm, but for the sake of their relationship he told himself that it was worth it. He had to bite back a wry grin as he ignored his friend's stare; he had figured _that _issue would be the most difficult thing with which they would have to compromise.

"Well, what about Talon?" the blonde finally blurted, the hint of a blush forming on her cheeks. "I'm just curious since General DuCouteau has been handling the most recent negotiations between Demacian and Noxus."

Mirth replaced the neutrality on Katarina's face that Garen and Lux recognized instantly but to which Jarvan remained oblivious. "He's in Bilgewater so he won't be at this meeting," she stated slowly after a swallow of her sludge-like Zaunite soup. "But if you like I can pass along word that you were asking about him."

Now Jarvan turned his puzzled gaze to Lux who defensively raised both hands and stammered, "N-no, there's no need for that," before stuffing her mouth with her salad to hide her embarrassment.

Garen sighed, and the conversation lapsed into silence for a few minutes as they ate until he finally asked, "So speaking of this meeting, any ideas on what it's about?"

The others shook their heads, though after a contemplative moment spent tapping at her lip, Luxanna answered, "Actually, I think it's probably related to Ezreal's latest exploration. He told me he was going to some new cave he found around the Shurima Desert."

"Oh, I forgot that you're friends with that guy," Jarvan mused. "Do you think it's more about this Aatrox?"

She shook her head. "No. With how mixed the reception was for that, they probably wouldn't bring it back up unless they had absolute proof that it existed, and considering how recently that was, I highly doubt it. It's gotta be different if they're calling another emergency meeting."

"It better be," Katarina asserted. "I think we can all agree that last time he was full of-" A quick jab of Garen's elbow into her side saw Katarina bite her tongue and leave her sentence hanging until she corrected, "That he was _maybe _not exactly sure what he was talking about."

Lux's brow furrowed. "Well, you never know what could be a real threat," she huffed.

"We're going to find out in a few hours anyway," Jarvan intervened before the conversation escalated. "And on that note, I have a few things I need to take care of before it begins." Pushing his empty bowl down the table, he rose and inclined his head at Garen. "Walk with me?"

"Yes, sir," the Commander responded, lapsing back into formalities, before giving the King an apologetic shrug. "I'll see you back at the room before the meeting, Katarina? 4:30?"

She nodded. "Sounds good. I'll be around." He called a goodbye to his sister as well, but her lingering annoyance over the previous conversation only allowed her to give him a short wave as she finished her meal. Shaking his head, he jogged to catch up to Jarvan who was already halfway to the door.

"I wanted to ask earlier; how have you been holding up?" he asked in a low tone when he'd assumed his place at the King's side.

His friend grimaced and answered without pretenses. "It's hard. Harder than I though I would be, if that's possible. The responsibilities of the kingdom are so much and I'm just one person. You know how our scout found how things were going to hell in Freljord? I feel like we're still fighting to keep that from happening in Demacia." He took a shuddering breath and added, "I miss Shyvana so much. I miss having someone to share the burden. I mean, your sister does a lot of work but... Garen, you should come home. I need my right hand man. I need a friend."

Stricken, the Commander choked out, "I really... if you made it an order..."

At that, Jarvan laughed, genuine but unable to stop the traces of disappointment that alighted on his face. "I could but I wouldn't feel right about it. I don't want to put you in that situation if it's not necessary. Besides, the work you're doing is valuable, so as long as you want to do it, the job is there."

At once Garen felt his insides twist anxiously, the familiar feeling of guilt dropping like a rock in his stomach. It seemed as though he were always being forced to choose between his friends and home and Katarina; it wasn't fair. "I want to come home," he answered truthfully. "I just... things are complicated. But I promise I'll be back soon."

A look of- Garen couldn't tell but it seemed a mixture of sympathy and spite- overcame his friend's features and he looked as though he were going to say something he didn't want to, but instead he put on a thin smile and sighed, "Well, if you ever change your mind about staying permanently, Demacia would be better for having you back."

The Commander was grateful when the subject changed and Jarvan switched instead to taking his reports. He didn't want to explain the complexities of his relationship when he could scarcely manage them himself. He and Katarina were complementary opposites in many ways which required some sacrifice on both their parts, and he was afraid that talking about his reservations would make it appear one-sided. And even more than that, he was afraid of how easily he might come to believe it.

* * *

Curled up in the shade of a tall white marble pillar, Katarina placed her finger against the cool stone with a _click, _tracing an all too familiar name: _Cassiopeia DuCouteau, Noxus. _The pillar was a monument raised at the bottom of the South stair platform to those who had died in the last battle. There were hundreds of names etched into the beautiful surface of the stone, summoners, soldiers, champions; so many had lost their lives due to the scheming of Emilia LeBlanc and Jericho Swain, her sister among them. But Cassiopeia had died killing Vladimir who had been an unstoppable force in the Noxian army, so her sacrifice had been a great victory for everyone except the DuCouteau family. She and Cass hadn't been exceptionally close, especially as they grew older, but they were still family and the loss was devastating to them all.

With a heavy sigh, Katarina pushed to her feet, dusted her pants, and began walking out into the field where the fighting had occurred, though for what she couldn't say. Small stones serving as grave markers littered the field, but they'd burned Cassiopeia's body, ground the bones, and scattered the dust to the wind, so there was nothing in particular that she was seeking. When she'd walked for twenty minutes to the edges of the battlefield and nearly halfway to Kalamanda, a glimmer in the distance caught her eye.

It was a fleeting glimmer of particles, like someone had thrown up a cloud of sparkles in every shade of purple. But the trail didn't reflect the sunlight, rather, it seemed to swallow the sun and around its edges the world was grey. Even stranger still was the immediate feeling of familiarity, though recognition escaped her. The red-head blinked, wondering if she was just seeing things, and in that split second, the trail was gone.

She shot a hesitant glance back toward the Institute. There was time to investigate and be back in time to meet Garen before the meeting, though not much. She didn't want to irritate him by being late, but the mystery begged and her curiosity could not be dissuaded.

"Just a look around and then right back," she whispered to herself, pulling twin daggers from the sheaths on her back and checking the one at her side for reassurance. In all likelihood there would be nothing out there, but it was always better to know than to be left wondering. With only the slightest rustle of yellowing grass to mark her movement, the assassin strode purposefully toward her mark.

* * *

It wasn't until the key was in the lock that Garen was alerted to Katarina's return. The sound itself was a novelty; most times he couldn't tell she was there until her hands were around his eyes she'd already succeeded in some kind of ploy to make him jump. Assassins. He was thankful she did though since he sat at the edge of the bed carefully wiping an oiled rag down the impeccably sharp sword in his lap, an enormous weapon half the size of a kite shield which he wielded one-handed. It would be a shame to impale himself in surprise.

But there was no attempts at fright and her only greeting was a cheerful, "Hey!" as she threw her key onto the small entryway table. So focused on his work, the Demacian only replied with an acknowledging grunt. Immediately unsatisfied, the red-head flopped onto the bed and jostled him from his trance, and when she had his attention, flicked her gaze pointedly to the blade in his lap. "Move it."

His eyebrows rose toward his hairline and quite against his will his heart his thoughts traveled south. "Not even a please. You're lucky I like you so much," he said as he carefully slid his sword back into its scabbard.

"Please," she purred, wriggling toward him until her head was in his lap and her feet dangled over the bed's side. "I like the attention. I'm early, did you notice?"

A quick glance at the clock on the wall told him it was 4:15. "So you are. That's a rarity. What was it that drove you to come back early?" His tone was teasing as was his free hand which came to rest at the waistband of her pants; her playful attitude was contagious. They'd been fighting so much recently and it _had _been a couple of weeks since she'd acted so overtly... frisky.

Her lips parted as she went to give him what he was so sure would be a flirtatious reply judging by the predatory gleam in her eyes, then a curious look came over her. "Actually, I... don't know," she realized.

It took Garen's brain a moment to switch gears after her decidedly not sexy answer. "Uh, what?" he mumbled, a half smile on his face that betrayed his uncertainty.

A faraway expression on her face, the Noxian repeated, "I have no idea what I was doing right before this."

"Yeah, that didn't clear anything up at all. Can I assume that we're not going to get back to the other thing until this is clarified?"

She tuned him out, eyebrows were drawn together in confusion as she repeated her activities for the day by counting them off on her fingers. "There was lunch, then I had to do some, ah, _recon_ for Dad, then I went to look at Cass's name on the monument... But I _know_ that was only a couple of hours worth of time; it was barely 3:30 when I was at the pillar," she insisted, lifting her now alarmed gaze to his. "There was something else. Now that you got me thinking about it, I was definitely doing something before I came here and it wasn't visiting the monument."

"Yes, good job, me. Maybe you lost track of time doing things?" he suggested dryly, trying not look cross at the unexpected turn the conversation had taken.

She raised an eyebrow as if to say, '_come on,_' and retorted, "I don't lose track of time when I'm doing work. Being aware of time is a pretty important part of what I do."

"Well I don't know," he muttered. "Consider what you're even implying here. You think you might have been doing something else but now suddenly you can't remember? Losing track of time makes more sense than a 'not even sure it's a memory' memory magically vanishing."

She bolted upright, not even bothering to smooth her ruffled hair. "Do you think it's possibly magic?"

The Demacian stared at her for a few moments before finally saying, "So this isn't a joke? You're actually serious."

"Of course I'm serious!" she scowled. "Something's not right. I know my own head and I say there's something missing!" Silence fell between them and Garen considered that the woman he loved might be a screw lose until she suddenly she reached and pulled something off her greaves for him to look at. "Grass! We haven't been outside since we got here _and _I don't remember going past the monument."

Garen narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You swear on your life this isn't a joke?"

The Noxian inhaled deeply, then let it out in measured counts that showed her impatience. "This makes too little sense to be made up. I promise you. I'm being completely serious."

He kept his eyes trained on her, searching for any sign to the contrary, but the woman remained straight-faced, even a little anxious as he waited for her to crack. "Ok," he finally exhaled. "Ok fine. What do you think we should do?"

With a whiny sigh, Katarina collapsed back onto his lap. "No one's gonna believe this. You barely believe me," came her complaint. "Maybe I should have Dad's summoner friend look at my head."

Garen brushed and errant strand of hair from her forehead and murmured, "You could see a summoner at the infirmary. You don't have to go to the meeting, if you'd rather do that."

"No," she frowned. "I'm not sick. I'm _fine_. There's no reason I shouldn't go. I will talk to Niko after."

"Alright. Ok then, it's a plan," he said briskly, taking her hand and kissing it. "We'll figure it out after. Now please-" he bent a little closer to her- "I really, really think there was something else you were gonna say earlier."

The red-head raised an eyebrow. "I just possibly lost an hour of my life and that's what you're thinking about? Really?"

"You're a very attractive woman and I find it very difficult to be convinced otherwise. Is that a no?"

She smirked then seized the faded blue cloth that encircled his neck and pulled his lips to hers in answer. As they spiraled further away from coherent thought, there was one common worry persisted for them both: _How exactly does one lose their memory?_


	3. Déjà Vu

_Thinking of translating game mechanics to 'real life', it's interesting to wonder about the effect of 'silencing' abilities. I like to think that silencing a fighter would seize their muscles, making it impossible for them to swing their sword, pull the trigger, release an arrow, etc. Silencing a mage would similarly keep them from speaking words of power, completing a casting motion, or essentially freeze the flow of mana (if it were like a chakra type of deal)._

_Also speaking of the 'game,' remember that in my universe, Champions are much more skilled than is allowed in a League match._

_In retrospect, I should have split chapter 1 better since this one came out short… er... no excuses for the delay then, I suppose... It works out though cuz there's a lot of new things in this chapter. Oh and I rearranged things a little bit. This first bit of this chapter was the end of chapter 1. You can skip all the bits in italics if you've already read chapter 1._

* * *

_Déjà Vu_

* * *

_With only a few minutes to spare, the pair slipped into the chamber that was the Institute of War's largest auditorium. Like an oversized classroom, the Grand Lecture Hall was half-circle in shape with rows of seating that descended toward the platform and podium at its heart. A giant white sheet of canvas hung behind the podium which could be used for projections. The floor was the same gold-veined white marble of the Institute's halls, the steps leading down to pulpit a contrasting black stone, and both contributed to the amplified buzz of a hundred conversations. It was well-lit with light from the hundreds of magical orbs that lined the ceiling and those that were nestled into ornate sconces on the walls, but with a simple wave of the hand a summoner could dim them all for presentation. Despite its size, the room was crammed with denizens from all over Valoran, from the most influential who had seats in the front, to the independent Champions, curious summoners, and concerned citizens._

_Each nation sat in clusters in the rows closest to the stage, beginning with the Piltoveran statesman, a woman and two summoners who were seated front and center. Their Sheriff, Caitlyn, was in attendance though she was on stage, somehow looking prim on the edge of her seat though her custom-made rifle rested in her lap. Ezreal would enter through the doors behind the stage once the meeting was called to order. And though he normally accompanied Bandle City, the academician Heimerdinger, founder of the Yordle Academy of Science & Progress was among them, sifting through a handful of papers and conversing with the agitated Yordle scientist beside him._

_To one side of the room nearest to the wall were the only two denizens of Bilgewater who had officially been chosen as emissaries to the still relatively lawless nation. The heartbreakingly beautiful bounty-huntress Miss Sarah Fortune was cleaning her pistols on the desk that could be pulled from the chair arm, occasionally sharing snide remarks with the man next to her. A rougher-looking sort than anyone else in the room, Gankplank still claimed to be Runeterra's most notorious pirate, though his face was appearing on fewer and fewer posters and he and Miss Fortune disagreed on political matters less and less._

_The newly recognized city-state of Mount Targon was there, home to the warrior tribe, the Rakkor, and their spiritual cousin tribe, the Solari. Though they still lived separately, the two factions now worked together for the betterment of their people, evidenced by their equal representation in the Council of Valoran. A woman as vibrant as the dawn itself with her long copper curls and golden eyes, Leona was the spokeswoman for the Solari, accompanied by a new Solari Elder and summoner. At her side was Pantheon, a man who was the epitome of Rakkor spirit. Where Leona was clad head to toe in well-worn armor, his only defense was a simple plate vest and a helmet which cast most his face into shadow. Another summoner, hood draw over his or her face, and a female Rakkor warrior joined him, balancing their group in number as they sat stoically behind the Piltoverans, waiting for the meeting's start._

_The Noxian representatives were off to the opposite side of Bilgewater, and would be complete once Katarina took her seat. A spot was being saved for her by the summoner Garen recognized as Niko, a man who had been instrumental in relaying Marcus's plans and Swain's movements to their motley army during the last battle. It seemed strange that Talon wasn't present and staring across the room at his sister, or that Marcus wasn't observing them all with his calculating eyes. No doubt the rest of the room was grateful; it was still difficult for many to accept the more cooperative Noxus that had risen under the DuCouteau's leadership._

_Huddled together in the section of rows between Piltover and Noxus were those Garen knew: Jarvan, now King of Demacia and his sister Luxanna, his Chief Adviser. They were accompanied by Poppy, a yordle who served as a liaison between Demacia and Bandle City. Poppy's constant friend and protector, an animated Gargoyle named Galio, was poised near the entrance of the hall where he could observe all that occurred. A lady summoner and a council member sat in the midst of them carrying on a conversation._

_Usually the representatives of Freljord would sit beside Demacia as the two nations were on good terms, but the room was surprisingly devoid of any icy denizens of the North. If what Jarvan had relayed to him about the situation there was true, Freljord was on the cusp of civil war and it would be impossible for Ashe or any of her people to leave the nation even for a moment._

_Instead, separated still by a few empty seats, was the longtime mayor of Bandle City, Dennison Jadefellow, a handful of summoners and their most outspoken members of government, and their two premier military personnel, the scout Teemo and commando Tristana. All were perched on top of boosters that raised them to the level of the humans around them. Once the world might have looked down upon Yordles (literally and figuratively), but their commendable efforts in the last war had proven to all that they deserved respect._

_Zaun, the one city-state which served as a bastion of resistance to order, was represented by those as chaotic as their city: their long-standing Chief Executive, Chairman Magnus Dunderson, an oily-looking individual who, although he should have been ancient, looked scarcely older than forty though his eyes had a mysterious blue glow; beside him, two members of the Liberal Council of Zaun; and two summoners that represented them in the Institute council of senior summoners. It was scarcely understood what motives Zaun had for their contrary actions, but that had always seemed the nature of the state._

_Ionia rounded out the last of the organized groups, represented by two of their senior summoners, their most able-bodied Elder, and the Duchess Karma, all who were dressed in traditional robes and exuded a calming serenity. They were guarded by the Captain of the Ionian Guard, Irelia Lito who herself was flanked by none other than a former Noxian national, Riven._

_And, as usual, despite halfhearted requests, there was no one present from the Shadow Isles._

_Finally, scattered among the rest of the auditorium were those who weren't mandated to appear but had done so regardless. Summoners of varying skill level were present, drawn by the curiosity of whatever it was the famed Ezreal claimed dare threaten them all. Citizens from around the continent who wanted to stay abreast of world affairs looked out out place in the grandeur of the Institute of War, and they weren't the only ones. Many of the independent Champions, those with no allegiances to the primary city-states of Valoran, looked just as uncomfortable in the grand hall, somewhat excluded from the other Champions._

_That was, of course, not enough of a deterrent for the resolute. Nami stubbornly ignored the stares in her direction; it wasn't often that one saw a mermaid on land. But the woman was utterly devoted to the preservation of her sea-dwelling people and learned about anything that could potentially affect them. Nidalee was another such oddity, a feral-looking woman who guarded the natural inhabitants of the Kumungu jungle with a single-minded ferocity. Anything that might threaten her family of cougars concerned her. Skarner was another, though his massive scorpion-shaped frame could only be accommodated by a place in the aisle. Since the last war, another of his kind had awoken from their magical slumber beneath Kalamanda, and the crystalline creatures were determined to ensure the safety of the world before awakening the rest._

_Other Champions were simply residents of the Institute of War, those who lived there and perhaps had nothing else to do. Alistar, a minotaur and resident guard, watched silently from the back of the auditorium next to Galio, and an inexplicably sad yordle-sized mummy named Amumu was being given a wide berth. Janna fanned herself with a non-existent breeze and sent rejecting looks at her many admirers, though despite her apparent vanity she was a major participant in the politics of both Piltover and Zaun. The only independents who seemed to fit in were Taric and, surprisingly, Zac, who were chatting amiably with the summoners in the seats in front of them. Given his gracious disposition and gentle manner, it was hard for the Gem Knight to go anywhere and not befriend people. Zac, despite being an amorphous green goo that happened to be humanoid in shape, was incredibly friendly with everyone and a self-proclaimed protector of the innocent._

_After spotting their respective parties, Garen and Katarina separated and pushed past those milling about in the aisles toward their seats. As they each settled in with greetings and apologies for their tardiness, the lights began to dim and a hush descended on the room. Footsteps echoed about the chamber as a hooded summoner approached the podium and set a small voice amplifying box on it._

_"Emissaries, Summoners, Champions, and Citizens of Valoran. Welcome to the Institute of War. On behalf of Piltover, this meeting has been called to order. As with all open-forums, there will be an opportunity at the end of the presentation for questions. Please refrain from all questions until that time." The last bit of his speech was said with an air of exasperation; it almost never occurred that everyone could hold their tongue. Ignoring the whispers that his sentiment drew, the summoner finished, "It is five o'clock so we shall begin. Today's speaker is Ezreal, the Grandmaster Explorer of Piltover."_

_It was silent again as the summoner moved offstage and Ezreal entered from the door behind him. He was a young man, a popular Champion and proficient at magic though he spent all his free time exploring caves and cataloging the ancient history of Valoran. His face was drawn in seriousness but any professionalism was counteracted by the unruly mop of blonde hair that stuck up at odd angles due to the goggles perched on top his head. Despite the formality of the occasion, it seemed no one had thought it pertinent to remind him not to wear his worn exploring attire. He shuffled his papers and the amulet on his wrist flashed in the few bright lights which remained focused on him._

_He cleared his throat to begin and someone called, "Is the big scary butterfly coming to kill us all, then?"_

_A ripple of laughter coursed throughout the hall. Even Garen couldn't help but chuckle at the comparison of Aatrox to a butterfly; he received a harsh swat on the back of the head from Luxanna._

_But Ezreal seemed prepared for the taunts and ignored them in favor of pulling out a tiny cube from his pocket. Without a word, he twisted it and it expanded until it was a flat frame the size of two hands with a glowing screen inside. A few taps and it began to project an image onto the enormous canvas behind him._

_The room immediately fell silent._

_Ezreal gestured to the canvas and the picture cast on its surface, a painting on a crumbling rock. The painting was of what looked like a hole in the world, purple and black and swirling. From it emerged hundreds of monsters who bore uncanny resemblances to the League's most fearsome Champions._

_Even Ezreal couldn't stop the smug look that crossed his face at the room's stunned silence. "No," he finally answered. "But the Void is."_

* * *

Garen and Katarina were some of the few in the auditorium whose eyes lit with thinly veiled excitement; most others looked on at the image in quiet worry or blatant fear. There were those in the hall to whom the image came as no surprise. Ezreal, though, couldn't help but smirk at the thick blanket of tension that had smothered the auditorium.

"What is it about this image," he questioned, gesturing to the image shining behind him, "that scares you more than the idea of an ancient being that is the very personification of blood lust?" No one dared speak, so he answered the question himself. The explorer tapped a few more times on his screen and the image zoomed in on the creatures depicted in the painting. The monsters pouring from the Void portal looked similar to Cho'Gath, Kog'Maw, and Kha'Zix, but there were hundreds of them accompanied by Void creatures like no one had ever seen.

"Proof," he said. "There is undeniable proof of the Void's existence right here in our own League. Since Cho'Gath was first summoned through whatever barriers separate Runeterra from the Void, the others have come through without warning or reason. Yet we have spared little thought as to why the Voidborn were able to enter Runeterra. We have pushed aside the warnings and threats of a Void invasion as crazy notions, but why? After all, we've had the proof all along."

From the auditorium a Demacian citizen called, "The Voidborn were just created by the summoners of the old Council to scare us!"

Ezreal jabbed a finger out toward the speaker. "Excuses. Most people think it's all a big conspiracy. Though with the corruption that was discovered in the former High Council of Equity, that's not entirely unreasonable." Then his reasonable expression settled into one of haughtiness as he added, "But of course anyone with even one grain of intelligence could see that that's a load of crock."

A collection of indignant sounds rolled across the room at his disparaging statement and beside Garen, Luxanna groaned and slapped her palm against her face. "He has no concept of appropriate social standard," she lamented.

Garen smirked. "Are you sure he's not just an asshole?"

"Oh, stop it!" she snapped. "It doesn't matter anyway! People are just mad because it's true!"

Garen's started to say something about pride but was cut short as Ezreal continued to speak over the angry murmurs. "Ultimately it doesn't change the fact that we know very little about the Void and there've been too many excuses made for not expending the effort into researching the Void." He changed the picture to a shot of the ruined city taken from above and despite the anger in the room, the audience was captivated. "I found these ruins during my latest exploration. Tests by the Academy of Science and Progress's geology department dated rocks here to be 3,300 years old. That's 300 years older than the Shurima pyramids which were before the oldest known structure in Valoran.

"At first I thought these ruins, like Urtistan, were destroyed by time and weather." He switched photos again, this time to a photo of the ruins of Urtistan. "Urtistan was founded in 1200BCLE by our estimates. According to Zilean the Chronokeeper, it was destroyed in roughly 700BCLE which from tests and simulations we've run appears to be an accurate estimate. But look at the state of this place."

Ezreal clicked to an aerial shot of Urtistan, mostly reduced to sand and what few structures still stood were crumbling. Only the clock tower remained relatively untouched. "We know that Urtistan was destroyed during the third major rune war by mages, hence the ruins of the city. What the mages didn't destroy time did." He clicked again, this time to a close up shot of a small stone pillar barely poking from the ground. It looked as though once it might have been smooth and bright, but the surface was cracked and pebbly. "This is the state of things that have been sitting around in the desert for roughly 700 years. It stands to reason that one that's 3,300 years old would be little more than dust," Ezreal pointed out. "But compare the exceptional state of preservation of the ruins of this new city to Urtistan's magically preserved clock tower."

Before he could even flip back to the previous picture, the conclusion was clear.

"For those who somehow haven't caught on," the flippant explorer said, "I'll make it clear: This city has been preserved by magic. This destruction wasn't the cause of time and weather. For whatever reason, someone saw that this city's ruins were preserved underground. The question is, what for?"

Unaware that he too had been leaning forward expectantly in his seat, Garen jumped as Luxanna seized his arm with a sharp gasp.

"What!" he hissed, willing his heart to cease its sudden desire to leap from his chest.

But his sister ignored him, muttered under her breath, "I wonder," then without further explanation, grabbed her baton, clambered over him into the aisle, and ran from the auditorium. There was a moment of silence as Ezreal stopped speaking to watch her run up the stairs without a backwards glance, then he snapped back to attention as the door swung shut.

"L-uh, where was I? Right, um, we at the Academy of Science and Progress believe that this has to do with the picture of the wall paintings which I showed at the beginning.

"The first picture I showed you was a portion of a wall which depicts the history of the city and surrounding area. Much of the rest of the wall was standard stuff about its founding up until this picture with the Void. Unfortunately, the rest of the wall was destroyed, so there's no way of knowing what happened afterward, but we can infer this." Ezreal held up fingers with each point he made. "One, this city, or at least a sister city very nearby, _survived _a Void invasion somehow. There's no way if they hadn't that depictions of it would have made it into their city's history. Ya know, because no one would have lived to make the painting.

"The second point is mostly guesswork," he admited, "but we feel that the evidence lends to its credibility pretty strongly. This city was magically concealed in order to show their descendants what the Void is capable of. Unfortunately since the rest of the wall is destroyed there's really no way of knowing how exactly things turned out, but we imagine it has something to do with exactly how they defeated the Void."

"Well that bit seems pretty obvious," Katarina snarked in the silence, ripples of laughter following.

Ezreal whirled toward her, arms akimbo. "You got something you wanna add?" he questioned hotly.

She raised an eyebrow then flipped her hand nonchalantly. "I just think you're missing the big picture."

A red flush crept up his neck and he made a flustered motion at the screen. "Then what's the big picture?"

Her eyebrow shot up further as if to ask, 'Y_ou don't see it?' _and she chuckled, "I'm just saying, if I had an enemy who knew my weaknesses, I'd bury the bastard so no one ever found out. Ah, hypothetically, of course. That city wasn't buried as some warning. It wasn't meant to be found."

Ezreal stared.

The room held its breath as hedealt with the confrontation to his previously held ideas. Garen, for one, was doing all he could to contain his laughter at Katarina's "hypothetical." She had tried to bury him a hundred times before, after all, and it was a general part of her job as an assassin.

"I… yes," the explorer finally ground out, "That does… make quite a bit of sense. And explains the missing wall." Heimerdinger and the other yordle scientist were whispering furiously as they scribbled in their notes. "Admittedly our presentation today was rather rushed and, ah, it could be that we missed some of the more, er, _noticeable_ aspects."

Before the volume in the room could rise above him, Ezreal interjected, "H-however! This just further emphasizes the point I came to make today! We need to know how the Void operates and how it could possibly be defeated should the event arise. My proposal today is that the united Valoran city-states mount an expedition for the one place which should have the most knowledge of the Void: The city of Icathia!"

The room did not take his proclamation well. Howls of outrage went up and several citizens got to their feet to make for the door.

"Icathia isn't real!"

"-Malzahar and his crazy followers-"

"People, please," Ezreal shouted into the amplifier. "If you'll just listen-"

Ezreal never finished his statement. Near him the lights dimmed, desaturated. A burst of violet energy exploded on stage, ripping a hole into the fabric of existence, a gaping maw into the unknown which sealed in a glimmer of purple particles as a figure emerged and stepped onto the hardwood platform.

He was humanoid in shape but hardly what could be considered human. The bare skin of his arms and chest held a sickly blue hue and rippled with an undercurrent of thick muscle. A metal mask covered his entire head, leaving slots only for the burning yellow eyes which peered out from beneath. The mask, it seemed, was a respirator as evidenced by the tubes which curved over his shoulders and under his arms to the tank on his back.

Barely two seconds had passed since Kassadin's emergence but already Caitlyn was on her feet with the barrel of her rifle inches from his face. Champions and summoners were poised to move and citizens to flee, but no one budged, all anticipating the next move but no one willing to make it.

Kassadin casually inclined his head toward the Sheriff and the surprised Explorer beside her, then glanced down to the glowing amulet on Ezreal's wrist. It now sported the limbs of a crossbow made entirely of magical energy which had materialized on either side of the amulet. "To think, it has been here all along," he said, so quietly that only Ezreal and Caitlyn could hear him.

"What are you doing here, Kassadin?" Caitlyn demanded, her tone clipped, business-like, and loud enough for the room to hear through the voice amplifier.

The intruder snapped his yellow eyes to her and, with the undertones of something resembling mirth, replied, "This meeting is an open forum, is it not?"

She wasn't swayed. "There's a door. Why didn't you use it?"

Katarina suppressed a shiver of déjà vu that ran down her spine. _The door…_

"I mean you no harm, if that's what you're concerned about and as a Champion of the League I am protected by the laws of the Institute as well." Then his eyes narrowed and he added, "But you must listen to me."

There was the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked which implied, _'I don't listen to anyone,'_ but Ezreal threw out a hand, signaling for Caitlyn to wait. "Is it about the Void?" he asked, lowering his hand and causing the sights of the magical crossbow to dissipate.

"You cannot go to Icathia," the masked man commanded. "If you go, the amulet must remain."

The explorer smirked, "Sorry, this thing has seen me through life and death situations. Give me a really good reason why."

Kassadin shook his head. "I cannot. Not here. But you must believe me. If you refuse to yield then I will have no choice but to ensure that you heed me."

"Fine let's talk," Ezreal replied. "Name the time and place."

"I need your word first that you will not seek Icathia."

"See, we're just going in circles 'cause I can't guarantee that until I know," Ezreal pointed out.

Kassadin closed his eyes. "Then I'm sorry."

It seemed as if all time stopped with a flick of his wrist.

Caitlyn twitched to pull the trigger but found that she was frozen. Spells died unspoken in the throats of summoners and weapons remained still. The momentary silence was all Kassadin needed to grab Ezreal by the wrist and open another rift to through the Void.

* * *

Focused so as not to lose her train of thought, Luxanna Crownguard trotted through the empty archive stacks. Her baton danced between her absentminded fingers sending patterns of light skittering across the spines of ancient books. Ezreal's comment about the city preserved by magic had sparked something in the recesses of her brain, something she'd read once, but the exact topic was maddeningly elusive. If she could just find that book or at least one on a similar subject, she was sure it would come back to her.

So fixated was she on her investigation, Lux did not sense the dark energy coming up on her until it was far too close. She whipped around squeaking an incantation for binding, but the spell whizzed down the narrow path of bookshelves striking nothing before fizzling out at the end of the row. By the time the words had left her lips, the slight weight of five claws were already resting against her throat.

"What a cute little mouse I've caught," a honeyed voice crooned, taspping razor-sharp nails against her skin. "Putting her cute little nose where it shouldn't be while the cat gets closer and closer."

Being caught off guard was frightening; Lux was the one trained to surprise, not the other way around. "Who are you?" she stammered, unable to keep the slight tremor from her tone. She grasped her baton in a white-knuckled grip but knew that her vocal cords would be ripped from her throat if she so much as began a word of power. Useless, useless.

"Not important, seeing as how I'm not the one you should be worried about," the decidedly female voice answered. "But I'm sure you'll figure it out. I'm just the messenger of a warning."

_Summoner or Champion if they can sneak so well,_ Lux calculated. _More likely to be a Champion because she relies on a physical threat. Stealth magic... opposite of mine. Darkness. Roster of female Champions who can become invisible..._ "And what's the message?" she questioned, not feeling as soothed as she hoped she would at coming to the most logical answer.

She could tell her assailant was smiling as she replied, "It's lucky you stepped out. The trap is being sprung without you inside. The other little mice won't be so lucky. Especially the pretty blonde one."

"The other...?" Lux began to ask but the realization of the words registered with a sharp intake of breath.

The other woman let out a breathy laugh. "Maybe you should run along before something happens. Or better yet, wait until it does. You might enjoy the chaos."

"Why warn me at all?" the blonde demanded, earning both another laugh and the painful shock of her skin breaking. She shivered as the very real possibility of her untimely death rushed back to her.

"I do so hate predictability," her attacker chuckled and that was that. The grip on Lux's neck loosened but when she turned, there was nothing, though she hadn't expected any less.

One of her gloved hands went up to her neck and came away bloodied, but seeing it seemed to snap her from her reverie. Bringing her baton to a ready position, Lux manipulated the light around her so that she too was unseen, then tore off through the archives.

* * *

From amongst the shelves, Evelynn watched with a smile on her face as she sucked the blood from her nails. In the past it hadn't made much difference whether or not the Shadow Isles were abreast of continental affairs; each denizen of the Isle had a personal agenda with little loyalty to the rest. It wasn't until recently that the mysterious inhabitants of the Isle had begun to coalesce. Not that the rest of the world realized this because it worked well for the islanders to keep the chaff ignorant. So though the Shadow Isles never formally answered the summons of the new Valoran Council that was not an indication that a representative did not attend the meetings.

She knew that Luxanna Crownguard was smart and had probably already figured out that it was she who warned her, but it was unlikely that she would draw the correct conclusions for it. Such an action was certainly not in Evelynn's orders, but Mordekaiser could be so unimaginative sometimes; it would be far more entertaining this way. If her actions just so happened to be such that a high-ranking Demacian diplomat and Champion would now owe her a favor, well, it was just that much sweeter.

With a dark chuckle, the Widowmaker followed in the little blonde girl's footsteps to see through the rest of her task.


End file.
